


Serve

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crushes, First Kiss, Friendship, High School, Inline with canon, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-16 04:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21501895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "If anything, Yuusuke thinks it would be more surprising if he were thinking about something other than the serve that has just let them take the second set of the match." Takinoue takes a moment to offer congratulations to his teammate and gets a little more than thanks in return.
Relationships: Shimada Makoto/Takinoue Yuusuke
Comments: 12
Kudos: 42





	1. Set

Yuusuke’s thinking about Shimada.

To be fair, this isn’t exactly an unusual circumstance. Some days it feels like Shimada is the only thing Yuusuke can keep on his mind, that even the long hours of practice with the volleyball club and struggling attempts to keep up with classwork with what energy Yuusuke has left are no more than interludes between the long, wandering contemplations Yuusuke’s mind is always having about the exact shade of the eyes half-hidden behind those chunky frames, or the silky texture of that hair that seems to catch the light every time one of the carefully parted locks slips forward to fall against Shimada’s forehead. But for once Yuusuke has a perfectly good excuse; if anything, he thinks it would be more surprising if he were thinking about something other than the serve that has just let them take the second set of the match.

They only have half the break left. In another handful of minutes the referee will blow the whistle, and Yuusuke will jog out onto the far side of the court along with the rest of the teammates who form the usual lineup for their games. Shimada will stay behind, returned to his position on the sidelines offering cheers that always seem to shiver extra energy through Yuusuke’s aching arms and exhausted legs, and if they win their last set it will be thanks to the efforts of their ace, and the skill of their setter, and not the last-minute substitution of a pinch server who has never before had the chance to stand on the court in the middle of a game. But right now Shimada is the hero, the star who burst into illumination to take the point and the game when Karasuno was most in need of support, and Yuusuke can’t think about anything else.

“Tattsun.” Yuusuke turns at the sound of his name, pulled back from the idle scan he’s been making of the bystanders ringing the edge of the court. Ukai is standing behind him with a full waterbottle angled out towards him; from the tilt of his eyebrow and the quirk at his mouth he’s been standing there for some time without Yuusuke glancing back to him. “You going to keep me waiting until my arm falls off?”

“Ah,” Yuusuke says, and reaches out to take the weight of the waterbottle. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Ukai lets his arm drop to his side and turns out to glance at the rest of the team. There’s a holder at his side with another pair of fresh bottles in it, but everyone else Yuusuke can see is already holding one, and Ukai doesn’t move to make an unnecessary offer. “That was a crazy last play.”

“It was,” Yuusuke agrees, as grateful to Ukai for bringing up the subject foremost on his mind as for the water he’s drinking more from habit than actual focus. “I wasn’t sure we were going to make it to the last set.”

Ukai creases his forehead at him. “Come on,” he says. “Is that any way for one of our dedicated regulars to talk?”

Yuusuke grimaces and ducks his head. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean--”

Ukai groans and lifts a hand to scrub over the stubble of his short-cut hair. “That’s not what I meant either,” he says, and he lets his hand fall. “Not that I don’t want to be out on the court with you, but we both know we wouldn’t have made it even this far if I were.” Yuusuke turns his head to look away rather than answering this unavoidable truth, but Ukai goes on talking without letting the bitter weight of reality harden to awkwardness. “I just mean…” He draws a breath and shakes his head hard, like he’s freeing himself from the tangle of miscommunication into which they’ve fallen. “It’s good we were able to stay in play long enough for Shimada to get that chance.”

Yuusuke’s smile breaks over his face before he can stop it. He ducks his head forward to hide some part of the happiness that feels like such a complete giveaway, but his hair isn’t long enough to give him much in the way of disguise, even when he lifts a hand to ruffle through the sweat-damp locks so he can hide behind the shadow of his forearm. “Yeah. He did really well today.”

“I’m glad his effort paid off,” Ukai says. “He’s been practicing that serve for months.”

“I know,” Yuusuke says, maybe a little too quickly, judging from the way Ukai looks sideways at him. Yuusuke can feel himself start to color and lifts his waterbottle back to his mouth to cover some of his self-consciousness in an overlong swallow. By the time he emerges he’s a little bit breathless and still just as flushed as he was when he began, but at least he’s had a few seconds to try to compose his thoughts into coherency. “He’s been at it almost every night.”

“Yeah,” Ukai says. “And that’s just--” and there’s motion at the corner of Yuusuke’s eye, the shift of a door cracking open just enough to let a familiar figure slip through, and Yuusuke’s head turns to answer the call of recognition before his mind has even caught up to the input of his eyes. He knows who it is, knows from the length of the stride and the care with which the other turns to ease the door back into place, and Yuusuke’s breath catches to a knot in his chest as Shimada turns his head and starts to move back towards the rest of the team.

“Sorry,” Yuusuke says, blurting the apology before he has taken the chance to notice if Ukai is even still talking to him or not. “I need to…” and he’s lifting his hands, gesturing towards some vague excuse as his feet move to take him away.

“Yeah,” Ukai says. “Here” and there’s a tug at the half-full water bottle Yuusuke is still holding to draw it free from his hold. When Yuusuke looks back Ukai is ducking to return it to the holder to carry it back to the sidelines. Ukai glances back to see Yuusuke hesitating next to him before lifting his gaze pointedly to the referee checking his watch at the side of the net. Yuusuke looks to the referee, and then to the far side of the court, where their opposing team is beginning to stir themselves towards their starting formation, and he turns to cut across the middle of their side with a haste that falls just shy of an outright run.

Shimada doesn’t see him coming. He’s facing the bench where he has spent so many of the games before this one; as Yuusuke approaches he’s drawing a towel up from around his neck to ruffle through his hair. He pulls at one of the ends to slide it free as he lifts his other hand to push the soft locks back into order, and it’s then that Yuusuke blurts “Shimada,” with far more volume than he means to give.

Shimada turns at once. His motion is so quick that for a moment Yuusuke flinches at causing what looks very much like a moment of panic in the other, but then he’s lifting his head to meet Yuusuke’s gaze and everything else Yuusuke might have been feeling disintegrates into the usual glowing haze that descends over him whenever he’s too close to Shimada. He’s left with his mouth open, his throat still tight on the sound of the other’s name and his mind entirely blank of any speech with which to follow it. Shimada stares at him for a moment, his eyes still wide and surprised behind the shine of his glasses, before his expression softens into a smile as he turns to face Yuusuke properly.

“Yuusuke,” he says, and all Yuusuke’s skin prickles with self-consciousness at the casual familiarity of his first name at Shimada’s lips. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Yuusuke says, even that sounding like something he’s struggling for. He stares at Shimada for a minute before realizing that he might want to prioritize coherency over attentiveness and letting his gaze slide sideways to fix on the bench just past the other’s hips instead. “I just wanted to…” Yuusuke presses his lips together and shakes his head to discard his half-formed sentence and clear his thoughts at once. “That was a great serve you made at the end of the last set.”

Yuusuke can see Shimada’s hand tighten against the towel he’s still holding. “Oh.” He breathes the word into such softness that Yuusuke finds himself looking up again, just to see the smile that Shimada is giving him in answer. It’s worth the distraction for how pleased he looks; his eyes are soft with appreciation, his smile so wide at his mouth that it’s a moment before he can collect himself enough to speak. “Thank you.” They stare at each other for a moment; this time it’s Shimada who ducks his head down, far enough that his hair slides forward to drape in front of his face. “I was really hoping I could be of some use to the team.”

“You were,” Yuusuke says, still too fast and too loud, but Shimada’s still smiling when he lifts his gaze to look up at him, and Yuusuke is finding it very hard to hold on to anything except the glowing warmth that seems to be radiating out from his chest to flush at his cheeks and tremble through his fingertips. “You were great.” Shimada blinks, his smile softening and deepening at once, and Yuusuke can feel his blush burning across his face and doesn’t care. “Shimada, I think you’re--”

The blare of the whistle makes Yuusuke jump, pulling his attention back over his shoulder to the bustle of the players assembling at the court. He catches a breath, his thoughts scattered by the interruption, and in front of him Shimada breathes out an exhale like a sigh.

“Good luck,” he says. When Yuusuke turns back to him Shimada’s smile is back to his usual friendly distance, the same expression he gives all the members of the team. “You’ve got this one, Yuusuke.”

“Yeah,” Yuusuke says, because he can’t think what else to say; and then honesty surfaces at his lips, finding voice for itself before he can think the better of it. “I always do my best when you’re watching me.” Shimada’s eyes widen behind his glasses, his mouth softens, and Yuusuke turns away to retreat before he can say anything else to embarrass himself. His face is glowing, he feels like he ought to be throwing off steam for how red he feels, and a hand closes around his wrist, delicate fingers tightening to a firm grip against him.

Yuusuke looks back. Shimada’s taken a step after him, surging forward from where he’s be waiting out the greater part of the match; his eyes are dark, his mouth is as set on certainty as his hold on Yuusuke’s wrist is. Shimada takes a breath, the action deliberate enough that Yuusuke can see the motion in his shoulders, and when he speaks it’s with the same careful clarity of the hold he has around Yuusuke’s arm.

“I’m always watching you,” he says. Yuusuke’s eyes widen; Shimada’s hold on his wrist loosens and slides down to clasp around his hand and squeeze pressure around his fingers. Yuusuke can’t think to respond, doesn’t move to react even as Shimada lets his grip fall; he just stands at the edge of the court staring as Shimada takes a step back. Shimada ducks his chin for a moment, working over another breath; then he lifts his head to beam brilliance at Yuusuke. “Take the set for us, Yuusuke.”

Yuusuke’s face goes crimson, burning to a red that he can feel like fire all over his cheeks. He can’t answer out loud; he just ducks his head in understanding before turning to jog to his position on the court, still flushed with such disbelieving happiness that he can feel it trying to lift him clear off the ground with the lightness of it.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline that speeds Yuusuke’s reactions, that makes his jumps higher, his spikes stronger, his receives quicker. Maybe it’s the attention he can feel against him, the motivation of a certain audience giving his every motion greater speed and accuracy. What he does know is that when the whistle blows to mark the end of their match, and Karasuno’s victory, it’s Shimada he looks to, and for the first time, he finds Shimada beaming at him too.


	2. Match

Everything is hectic at the end of the match. Yuusuke has experienced this before, both from the winning and the losing side; he can never decide which is more overwhelming, whether struggling to his feet from beneath the crushing weight of defeat or trying to follow the scattered enthusiasm of the entire team as they get off the court and into a space for their cooldown stretches. He vastly prefers the latter, in any case, and however distracted his attention may be he’s smiling for the whole span of time that it takes for their team to shuffle through the handshake with their competitors, and crowd out into the hallway, and collect in one of the patches of grass wide enough for them to work through stretching their overtaxed muscles.

He loses Shimada somewhere in the midst of it. Yuusuke was sure he would lay claim to the other’s attention as soon as he stepped off the court, that the adrenaline-fueled determination to finish the fascinating conversation barely begun before the start of the third set would carry him straight to Shimada’s side regardless of the distractions of his teammates or the urging of Coach Ukai. But Yuusuke is pulled into line to thank their opponents along with the other regulars, at the far end from where Shimada stands with the rest of the group from the bench, and by the time they have all filed out of the gym doors Coach Ukai is growling about the necessity of cooling down for the players who spent time on the court during the last set. Yuusuke catches a glimpse of Shimada then, as the two portions of the team break off for their respective efforts of stretching and packing up, but if Shimada looks back to see him the connection is lost in the bustle of the team moving to part them, and any chance of communication vanishes before it is given form. Yuusuke is carried along on the tide of Coach Ukai’s insistence, and works through the physical exertion of their cool down stretches with his mind wholly elsewhere, and it’s only as he gets to his feet from the patch of grass Karasuno has claimed that he can finally return to his initial goal.

Shimada is nowhere to be seen. Yuusuke can pick out a few of the backup players walking over the distance between the gym and their bus with bags of water bottles and sweatshirts slung over their shoulders, but the sunlight catches their hair to brown or gold instead of inky black, and there’s no sign of Shimada’s graceful stride in their motion. Yuusuke looks to the bus, wondering if the other is in the shadows inside already, and from over his shoulder there’s a shout from Coach Ukai.

“Meet on the bus as soon as you’re done stretching,” he calls in a gruff tone that expects obedience rather than bothering with demanding it. “You kids might have energy to spare, but I want to make it back home before midnight.” He looks back over his shoulder at Yuusuke, halfway across the distance to the waiting vehicle. “You hear me, Takinoue?”

Yuusuke doesn’t attempt the insane tactic of arguing with Coach Ukai. He ducks his head instead and lifts a hand to gesture towards the gym. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom.” He moves as quickly as he speaks, turning to jog towards the building without waiting for the possibility of a protest while his heart thuds with adrenaline enough to set him up for another full match, if there were anyone to play against.

It’s quieter inside the gym than it was. The greater number of the spectators have filed out to leave the bleachers empty and echoing; there’s only one game that went longer than Karasuno’s, and that’s a few courts down, at enough of a distance that Yuusuke can only barely hear the squeak of shoes and the  _ thud _ of the ball hitting the court with each scored point. There are a few trailing players inside, in a rainbow of uniforms and sports jackets, but Yuusuke skims over most of them, only pausing as a player with a buzzcut and an orange-striped black jersey to match Yuusuke’s own rounds the landing of the stairs and starts to come down them.

“Ukai,” Yuusuke says, and turns to move towards the stairs. Ukai looks up at once to see him, his pace slowing but not stopping as he takes the steps with easy speed. “How’s packing going?”

“Hey,” Ukai says, and comes off the last step to join Yuusuke on the ground floor. “We’re just about done. Are you finished stretching?”

“Yeah,” Yuusuke says. “Coach was just--” and a voice cuts over him to finish his statement firsthand.

“Keishin,” Coach Ukai says. “I was looking for you. Is everyone ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Ukai says. “Shimada just went back upstairs to do one last check.”

Coach Ukai sighs. “It’s an empty room, we’re not going to miss anything. Go and tell him to hurry it up, I don’t want to be here all night.”

“I’ll go,” Yuusuke says immediately, before Ukai can open his mouth to respond. He moves towards the stairs and takes a step up them before he pauses to glance back. “In the storage room? I’ll be right back.”

“Bring Shimada with you!” Coach Ukai tells him. Yuusuke lifts a hand in acknowledgment but he doesn’t pause to give Coach Ukai a response, or to answer the knowing suspicion clear in his grandson’s face. He’s moving up the stairs instead, taking them in a rush that seems the most immediate means to easing some of the tight-wound anticipation shivering through him.

There is almost no one on the second floor at all. Yuusuke passes a pair of players making their way towards the stairs back from the bathroom, and one lingering spectator who has paused in an alcove to take a phone call, but for the most part the space has the open, echoing silence that comes with something designed for an absent crowd. Yuusuke can hear the sound of his footsteps echoing behind him, the pace of them feeling like so much of a giveaway he feels himself flushing with self-consciousness for nothing except walking down the hallway, but he can’t regain his composure any more than he can persuade his rushing heartbeat to ease. He feels shaky, like his blood has gone electric and shivering beneath his skin, until it’s hard to keep his breathing steady as he makes his way down the hall towards the storage room where Karasuno stored their supplies for the duration of the tournament. It’s around a corner, at the very end of the hallway from the stairs, and Yuusuke is just rounding the turn when there’s the sound of a door opening, and Shimada steps out into the hallway.

Yuusuke stumbles over his footing for a moment as his body debates whether to lunge forward or retreat back. He’s been looking for Shimada since the game ended, has felt the prickling nerves of anxiety at the back of his thoughts with every glance that failed to provide the other’s presence; but now that he’s found him Yuusuke finds himself abruptly, painfully self-conscious, as if all his insistent interest has suddenly turned back around to confront him with his own transparency. His steps stall, he hesitates over the brief insanity telling him to duck back around the corner and delay this meeting for another moment while he collects himself, and then Shimada looks up and sees him, and the decision is made for him in the time it takes a smile to break over Shimada’s face.

“Yuusuke,” he says, and turns away from the door to come down the hall without hesitation. Yuusuke takes another step forward to meet him but that’s as far as he gets before they’re both stopping in the middle of the corridor, fixed where they are by the other’s presence. “Good work in the game.”

“Oh,” Yuusuke says. He had briefly forgotten entirely about the match he finished not an hour ago; the sudden recollection flushes his cheeks and tangles his words in his throat. “Yeah. Thanks. Uh, you too.”

Shimada smiles at him. “I didn’t have much to do with it this last set,” he says, and takes a step to move past Yuusuke. “Is Coach waiting for us?”

“Oh,” Yuusuke says, and turns to follow the inertia of Shimada’s movement. “Yeah. Down by the bus, with the rest of the team.”

Shimada grimaces. “We’d better hurry,” he says. “I don’t want to be the last ones keeping him waiting.”

Yuusuke makes a general sound of agreement, though he doesn’t feel it. It’s true that Coach Ukai is a force to be reckoned with, and Yuusuke isn’t particularly keen to confront the other’s impatience, but his adrenaline is turning itself into the beginnings of panic as Shimada continues down the hallway to take them back towards the bus and the company waiting for them there. The hallway around them now is all but empty, absent any of the distractions or audience they will have on the bus, and Yuusuke feels a strange sense of desperation, as if whatever understanding they may have reached in the break between sets might evaporate and vanish if he lets it go too long unacknowledged. But he has no idea what to say, no concept of how to steer the casual conversation in the deliberate direction he wants it to go, so he follows in Shimada’s wake, feeling simultaneously thrilled by the other’s presence and stomach-droppingly desperate to stop their forward motion before they leave all the possibilities of the present behind them.

“I didn’t realize it was getting so late,” Shimada says as they come past the woman still speaking on her phone in the corner. He looks back over his shoulder to smile at Yuusuke. “Did Coach send you up to collect me?”

“Yeah,” Yuusuke says, and promptly regrets the lost opportunity to say that he had volunteered, that he had sought out the possibility of a moment alone with Shimada. They’re approaching the stairway at the end of the hall, in a minute they’ll be heading down and towards the rest of the waiting team; Yuusuke feels anxiety fluttering in his stomach, as intense as the trembling excitement that comes before a game. He has to say something, his chance to speak is vanishing with every step he takes, and as Shimada takes a step forward to start down the stairs Yuusuke takes a breath.

He doesn’t get a chance to put it to use. “By the way,” Shimada says, speaking clearly as he watches the stairs he’s descending. “What was it you were going to say during the break?”

Yuusuke halts at the top of the stairs to stare down at Shimada. “What?”

“You were saying something just before the last set of the game.” Shimada steps out onto the landing between the floors and turns to look back at Yuusuke, still standing frozen at the top step. “Do you remember what it was?”

Yuusuke does remember.  _ I think you’re _ before the blare of the whistle had dragged him back into the present moment and away from the bubble of glowing isolation he had found himself in with Shimada’s smile and the bright of his eyes to keep him there. The words had come easy, then, had seemed ready to fall over themselves in their haste to escape the cage where he has kept them for so long; now they catch in his throat, twisted to a knot that leaves him silent and still at the top of the steps.

Shimada is still watching him. He has a hand on the railing of the stairs, he’s at the corner to turn and make his way down the last steps to where their coach and teammates are waiting; but he’s turned back towards Yuusuke, his head lifted and gaze as steady as his voice had been during the break, when he had offered the words of a confession as easily as he might have shouted a compliment. Yuusuke had wondered about the truth of that, has fretted against the possibility of a misunderstanding in his head over the last half hour of building tension; but with Shimada gazing up at him, his mouth turning up at the corner into the hint of a smile, Yuusuke finds all his uncertainty disintegrating. Shimada had spoken, had given voice to words while Yuusuke found himself struck dumb with his own self-consciousness; and he’s giving Yuusuke another chance, as surely as his serve gave them another set to take the match.

Yuusuke takes a step forward, onto the first of the stairs leading to the landing. “Yeah,” he says. His feet move to take him forward to where Shimada is waiting; Shimada watches him approach, his gaze clear and his smile still clinging to the very corner of his mouth. Yuusuke feels nearly dizzy, like his adrenaline is lifting him out of his body to drift in the wake of his feet bearing him steadily forward down the stairs and to the landing to stand in front of Shimada, to turn and face him. Yuusuke’s heart is racing, his hands feel like they must be trembling visibly at his sides, but he braces himself like he’s expecting a receive, and when he lifts his eyes he meets Shimada’s gaze fully. “I think you’re amazing, Shimada.”

Shimada’s smile tugs free of the corner of his mouth, spreading wide to curve across the whole of his lips. It lights up the dark of his eyes and glows warmth into the pale of his cheeks, but Yuusuke doesn’t have a chance to linger in appreciation before Shimada is reaching out to close his hold around Yuusuke’s wrist and pull him closer. Yuusuke steps forward, carried out of the line of sight of the second floor behind him and not quite into view of the ground floor ahead, and in the moment of isolation Shimada’s hand comes up to curl against the back of Yuusuke’s head and draw him forward.

Yuusuke doesn’t catch his breath, doesn’t tense against the pull. It seems inevitable, a natural outcome of the anticipation that has been coursing through him since the moment Shimada’s serve landed the winning point against their opponent’s side of the court. He comes forward, drawn close by Shimada’s fingers against his hair, and when his mouth touches Shimada’s Yuusuke shuts his eyes to surrender to the warmth of Shimada’s lips fitting to his own. Shimada’s head tips, his mouth softens, and for a moment they stand there, held to a moment of stillness by the brace of a gentle hold, and an unseen corner, and the satisfaction of a long-desired culmination. Then there’s a sound from the floor above, the patter of approaching footsteps, and Shimada lets Yuusuke go just as the woman draws into view at the top of the stairs and begins to descend.

Yuusuke is sure they’re not standing far enough apart to divert suspicion, if the woman paid any attention to them; but she’s looking down, caught up in her own thoughts, and if she sees two players standing too close in the shadows of the landing she doesn’t pause to say anything before she continues down to the ground floor and the exit. Yuusuke waits until she’s out of sight; then he breathes an exhale and blinks back to look at Shimada.

Shimada’s watching him already, his dark eyes wide and focused as he looks at Yuusuke in front of him. Yuusuke has a thrill of excitement run down his spine at the thought that Shimada might have been looking at him this whole time, might have been too caught up in focusing on him to even spare a glance for their almost-audience. They look at each other for a moment, still standing close with Shimada’s touch lingering at Yuusuke’s wrist; and then there’s a shout from the ground floor, “Shimada?” in a voice as loud though far less gruff than their coach’s. “Tattsun?”

“Yeah!” Yuusuke calls back, before Ukai can start to climb up the stairs towards them. “Be right there!” He takes a step forward to move around Shimada so he can come the rest of the way down the stairs. Shimada lets him go, staying where he is as Yuusuke moves past him; for a breath Yuusuke’s shoulder is pressing against Shimada’s, Shimada’s fingers are trailing against Yuusuke’s wrist. Then the contact has passed, and Yuusuke is coming down the stairs with Shimada making a show of convincing haste just behind him.

Ukai is standing just inside the main entrance, one hand holding the door open as he leans inside. “Hurry up,” he calls. “The old man’s talking about leaving you here if he has to wait much longer.”

“We’re coming,” Shimada says, and moves past Yuusuke to slip through the doorway and jog towards the waiting bus. Yuusuke is left to take the door from Ukai and nod his thanks as they fall into step together, a little slower than Shimada but still with speed enough to satisfy their waiting coach.

Ukai clears his throat. “Did you have enough time?”

Yuusuke glances at him. Ukai’s facing forward and not looking at him at all, but Yuusuke still feels himself color with self-consciousness in spite of the relative neutrality of the question. He looks away, to where Shimada is just stepping up into the entrance of the bus. Shimada pauses on the steps, glancing to look back at the two of them lingering behind, before he smiles and turns to duck inside.

Yuusuke takes a breath and nods. “Yeah.”

Ukai doesn’t answer aloud, but he reaches out to press a hand against Yuusuke’s shoulder as they draw level with the bus, and the weight of his hold feels like congratulations all in itself.


End file.
